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HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 

LE ROY ARNOLD 



Copyright, 1915, By Le Roy Arnold 
Copyright, 1917, By Samuel French 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that " HURRY, HURRY, HURRY ", being fully protected 
under the copyright laws of the United State, is subject to 
a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the 
consent of the owner or his authorized agents will be 
liable to the penalties by law provided. Application for 
acting rights must be made to Samuel French, 28-30 
West 38th Street, New York. 



New York 
IUEL FRENCH 
publisher 
fe Vest 38th STREET 



London 
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
26 Southampton Street 
STRAND 



ll 



4 



^ 






PP 4 7878 



SEP 25 1917 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 



CHARACTERS 

Jack Crandall Cow boy -author 

Mr. Hooker Business man 

Stephen Hooker College freshman 

Ted Stone Football hero 

Alosius Bartholomew College professor 

Floy Hooker Vivacious debutante 

Letitia Brown Languishing dilettante 

Mrs. Hooker Modern mother 

Rita Pert housemaid 

Act I. Living room of the Hooker mansion, 
in the big American city, Middle 
West. Present time — late after- 
noon, a few days before Christmas. 

Act II. Same as Act I. Evening. 

Act III. Same as Act II. Just before midnight. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 



ACT I 



Scene: Living room of the Hooker mansion. 
Late afternoon, a few days before Christmas. 
One large doorway, portieres open, discloses 
the hall with its stairway and a telephone con- 
spicuously placed. Another large doorway 
opens into the billiard room, and a small door 
opens into the study. The living room, with itz 
costly mahogany, consistent color scheme, paint- 
ings, hangings, and softly shaded lights, sug- 
gests luxury, if not individuality of taste. 

Mrs. Hooker, a big, aggressive woman of 
middle age, sits at a table, writing cards in 
mad haste, for a pile of boxes of various sizes 
in variegated Christmas wrappings. She has a 
mannerism of concluding her remarks with two 
little grunts, indicative of her good nature. 

Rita, a pert house maid, comes in from the 
billiard room, carrying a large bundle of pack- 
ages. She stumbles and lets them fall on the 
floor with a crash. 

Mrs. Hooker. {Helping Rita pick up the pack- 
ages) Rita, what an avalanche ! 

Rita. Mrs. Hooker, cook says 

Mrs. Hooker. Can't you see I haven't time to 
hear what cook says? 

Rita. But cook -■ 

5 



6 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Mrs. Hooker. Rita, you are exasperating. Here 
it is only three days before Christmas and I am 
fairly suffocated with responsibilities, and you keep 
coming to me with stories about cook. Now I 
haven't time 

Rita. But cook, she 



Mrs. Hooker. Rita! Did I tell you that Miss 
Floy and Mr. Stephen will dine at home this even- 
ing? 

Rita. No. 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, Rita, when will you learn to 
say " No ma'am " ? 

Rita. I haven't time. I haven't time. (Exit 
Rita with a flounce, through door to billard room. 
Front door is heard to slam. Enter Mr. Hooker 
from hall. Short, with gray hair and moustache, 
slightly bald, — at first sight he would seem a con- 
ventional figure, but his gruff, mocking tone fails to 
conceal a naturally genial disposition) 

Mrs. Hooker. (Busily writing and not looking 
up) I thought you'd never come, Father. Don't 
you know we're dining out this evening at the Van 
Tyne- Aliens ? 

Mr. Hooker. I've been rushed to death all day, 
Mother. Office never in such a turmoil— telephone 
every second — everybody in a hurry. 

Mrs. Hooker. And I've been rushed all day, 
too — every day for that matter. 

Mr. Hooker. Yes, Mother, but there is a dif- 
ference between your philanthropy and my grain 
business. You may be sowing the seed, but I am 
reaping the whirlwind. (He sighs, steals back of 
her chair, and kisses her on the forehead) 

Mrs. Hooker. (Looking up for the first time) 
Why, Jim, what's the matter? 

Mr. Hooker. Matter? 

Mrs. Hooker. You haven't kissed me before for 
years. Not that I mind, dear. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 7 

Mr. Hooker. (Sitting dejectedly) Suppose we 
haven't had time. 

Mrs. Hooker. And we haven't a minute now. 
Hurry and dress. You know, I can always dress 
quicker than you can. 

Mr. Hooker. Let's not go. 

Mrs. Hooker. But it's a dinner — the dinner of 
the season. They'd never forgive us for regretting 
at the eleventh hour. 

Mr. Hooker. Tell 'em I'm sick. 

Mrs. Hooker. Jim, what is the matter? Your 
rheumatism? If you'd only keep busy, you'd forget 
it. 

Mr. Hooker. No, 'tisn't rheumatism. Sally, I 
was thinkin' as I came in to-night — you so distracted 
with your Christmasing and our whole house stirred 
up like Bedlam all of the time 

Mrs. Hooker. What nonsense! There isn't a 
happier family in America than we are. 

Mr. Hooker. That's just it. There aren't any 
happy families in Amercia. , We're all too con- 
foundedly busy to be happy. 

Mrs. Hooker. Preposterous. The only way to 
be happy is to be busy. . I've heard you say so a 
thousand times. Now this is" no time for moralizing. 
Hurry up stairs, there's a dear. 

Mr. Hooker. Hurry, hurry, hurry ! That's it in 
nutshell. Everybody's hurrying and nobody knows 
why. I've been thinking I've made a mistake in pil- 
ing up money for us to spend. We were happier 
when we started on forty dollars a month, Sally, — 
now weren't we? 

Mrs. Hooker. What makes you so sentimental 
to-night, Jim? Is it the Christmas season? Really, 
there is something wrong with you. How could 
the four of us live on forty a month? Why, Floy 
spends as much for a pair of boots, and Steve for a 
supply of cigarettes. Really, dear, this is no time 



8 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

to rhapsodize on the good old days when we were 
poor. They were good days, Jim, and I enjoyed 
cooking for you, — yes, and washing your clothes, 
too. And nobody could launder a collar better than 
I, if I do say it. But now we have something more 
important to do. We must get ready for that dinner, 
for one thing. I'll tell Seton to have the car at six 
forty-five. We'll have a few minutes on the way to 
decide what we are going to talk about. (She goes 
tozvard the telephone, but is stopped by her husband) 

Mr. Hooker. Sally, it's no use. We can't go. 
(He buries his face in his hands and she hurries 
to him) 

Mrs. Hooker. What is it, dear ? I hope you 
aren't going to have a breakdown. 

Mr. Hooker. Yes, that's what it is, a break- 
down. 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, dear, everybody seems to be 
breaking down. Mrs. DeWitt Smith fell right over 
the bridge table the other day, just like that, flat, 
and they've carried her off to a sanitarium and she'll 
probably be there the rest of her life — but you are 
not like that, Jim. 

Mr. Hooker. No, Sally, my breakdown is going 
to be different. I am broke. 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, everybody is, in the holiday 
season. But I have some cash. (Looking in her 
check book) Let me see, how much do you want? 

Mr. Hooker. You don't understand, Sally. Oh, 
I can't tell you. (He restrains a sob) 

Mrs. Hooker. You don't mean — the firm is going 
to fail? 

Mr. Hooker. Yes, to-morrow. It's been coming 
for a long time. W r e can't stave it off any longer. 
Directors' meeting this afternoon. We're busted. 

Mrs. Hooker. But surely we have some private 
income? (He shakes his head in dissent) 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 9 

Mrs. Hooker. This home is ours, the law gives 
us that. 

Mr. Hooker. I can't live in a mansion, Sally, on 
other people's money. No, the home — everything 
has to go. . 

Mrs. Hooker. ^Oh, it's too terrible. Right at the 
time when the children need it. I don't care about 
myself, Father, I can get along. Life for me has 
been one perpetual readjustment, any way. But the 
children — Oh, Daddy — {The telephone bell rings, 
violently) No, I am not going to cry. Oh, I do 
hope there are no telephones in heaven. (Anszver- 
ing the telephone) Hello, yes, this is she. Oh, 
how do you do, Mrs. Force? So glad to hear from 
you. Yes, I remember you very well. Oh, I see. 
I'll take the matter up with Mr. Hooker. Yes, 
doubtless he will send you a check. Yes, worthy 
cause. Yes, thank you. Good-bye. {Hanging up' 
receiver) One comfort, we shan't be troubled with 
this incessant begging much longer. We'll be the 
beggars now, I suppose — Why, Jim, now I know. 
I have been trying to think of it all the time I was 
telephoning. There is Aunt Sophia's legacy, and 
that is something like a million, isn't it? 

Mr. Hooker. Yes, but we can't depend on that. 
It all goes to Floy, you know. 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, Floy will see that we don't 
starve, bless her. Now, Father, let's have a good 
time at the dinner party. 

Mr. Hooker. You are a good sport, Mother. 
But don't imagine that legacy is going to prevent the 
crash, a crash that will make a noise all over the 
United States. Guess I'll make a fine head-liner for 
the morning papers, — self-made, unmade. Probably 
call me a crook, too. 

(The telephone bell rings.) 



io HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Mrs. Hooker. Again! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
(Answering the telephone) Hello. Oh, is that 
you, dear? Yes, we were about to start to the 
dinner, but we >can't go. Will you explain? An 
awful thing has happened. Mr. Hooker — Oh, I 
can't tell you. 

Mr. Hoojker. Go on. Don't mind me. Tell her 
the whole truth. 

Mrs. Hooker. Mr. Hooker has had a — a stroke. 
Oh, no, he is alive, yes, quite alive. Yes, thank you, 
thank you, thank you. Good-bye. (Hanging up 
the receiver) Jim, where is Aunt Sophia's will? 

Mr. Hooker. Oh, it doesn't come into effect for a 
year or two. Queer thing, that will. I never told 
you the details of it, did I ? Not sure we'll ever get 
the money. 

Mrs. Hooker. What do you mean? 

Mr. Hooker. (Opening a secret panel and dis- 
closing a safe) Coast clear? 

Mrs. Hooker. (Glancing through the doorways) 
Yes. 

Mr. Hooker. (Opening safe and fumbling 
through some papers) Here it is. .Never told a soul 
about it, not even you. Suppose you ought to know, 
though. 

Mrs. Hooker. Jim, please ! 

Mr. Hooker. Well, you know how queer Sophia 
always was. Well, her will is queerer. Not so 
strange, though, either, when you remember her life 
— always pining because she didn't marry that chap 
she was engaged to. Guess she didn't get much 
pleasure out of being an old maid. 

Mrs. Hooker. Come to the point, Jim, before I 
expire. 

Mr. Hooker. This is the point. She left her 
million to our Floy, providing Floy is engaged to be 
married before she is twenty-one and marries the 
same man before she is twenty-two. 



HURRY, KURRY, HURRY n 

Mrs. Hooker. Outrageous!, Floy engaged be- 
fore she is twenty-one! Don't you realize she is 
twenty-one to-morrow ? 

Mr. Hooker. No, thought she'd be twenty. 
Lemme see, when was she born? 

Mrs. Hooker. Twenty-one to-morrow. 

Mr. Hooker. That's a fact! (Examining the 
will, Mrs. Hooker looking over his shoulder) Yes, 
that's the stipulation : engaged before she is twenty- 
one and married before she is twenty-two. (Read- 
ing) " In the event of her failure to comply with 
either or both of these stipulations, the entire prop- 
erty, without reservation, is bequeathed for the 
establishment of the Sophia Skinner Home for 
Spinsters, — the regulations governing such disposal 
herewith attached." 

Mrs. Hooker. I always thought Sophia was 
crazy, — half crazy. 

Mr. Hooker. Well, she was only my half sister. 

Mrs. Hooker. Crazy or not, I don't suppose you 
want to break her will? 

Mr. Hooker. No. No, I wouldn't do that. 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, why didn't you tell me about 
this sooner? 

"Mr. Hooker. I thought there was a year yet — 
and Floy has so many men — and, confound it, Sally, 
you don't think I'd sell her, do you? Not for a 
billion. 

Mrs. Hooker. That is fine talk, Father, but 
Floy may soon be behind a counter and a well 
qualified candidate for that home for spinsters, if 
we don't do something. 

Mr. Hooker. What could we do? 

Mrs. Hooker. Do you realize that while we sit 
here the minutes are ticking aw r ay, and Floy must 
be engaged before midnight? 

Mr. Hooker. I'll never coerce her, not a bit of it. 

Mrs. Hooker. Nor I. But we needn't be like 



12 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

most parents and go to the other extreme. After all, 
as they know in Europe, marriage is a family affair. 

Now Floy has, had half a dozen proposals 

Mr. Hooker. But she has turned them all down, 
and right she is. They're none of 'em good enough 
for her. Confound it, Sally, she's got to marry for 
love — million or no million. 

(Front door bangs.) 

Mrs. Hooker. Hush, there she is. 

(Enter from the hall Floy, a lovely, fluffy, pirouet- 
ting young thing, atingle with the adventure 
of life. Her muff and arms are full of Christ- 
mas packages.) 

Floy. (Running to Mr. Hooker with a kiss and 
perching on the arm of his chair) Hello, Dad. 
Forgive me my Christmases? (Mrs. Hooker goes 
to the telephone, and talks in a low tone) I've 
overdrawn my bank account again, but you don't 
mind, you're such a generous old dadkins. Why so 
grave? Do you mind? 

Mr. Hooker. No, Florodora. 

Floy. If you do, we'll economize. We'll cancel 
that ermine cloak you were going to give me for my 
birthday. Awful having birthdays and Christmases 
all at once. Really, Dad, I've cut down my Christ- 
mas list and cut it and cut it until I feel like a regular 
spug, but there are still one hundred and ten of my 
most intimate friends that I have to remember. 
And I have to get them nice presents, too. They'd 
think me stingy if I didn't. 

Mrs. Hooker. (Speaking loudly at the tele- 
phone) Can't you hear? Please tell Mrs. Jenkin- 
son that Miss Hooker and Mr. Stephen Hooker can 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 13 

not attend the opera with her this evening. I will 
explain later. 

Floy. Why, Mother, we are going to the opera. 

Mrs. Hooker. Not to-night, dear. 

Floy. But I particularly want to hear this opera 
— it's so modern and naughty. 

Mrs. Hooker. Your father wants you. 

Floy. I never heard of such a thing. I haven't 
been home a night since my coming out in the fall. 
I'd hate to spoil my record now. What's the matter 
with Dad ? 

Mr. Hooker. Nothing, nothing. Go ahead, Floy, 
and enjoy yourself. 

Mrs. Hooker. Dad wants us all to break our 
engagements for to-night. 

Floy. And the four of us to be here together? 
Oh, that is a nice homey idea — and such a novelty. 

Mrs. Hooker. Yes, and I thought of asking one 
or two men in, just for an informal good time. 

Floy. Men ! ^ No, anything but men ! I'm sick of 
them. No, my 'head isn't turned the least tiny bit. 
.1 am disillusioned about men. They all get in line 
and propose year after year to one debutante after 
another. No, if we're going to have anybody, I'll 
ask Letitia Brown. The poor girl is never asked 
anywhere, and she's a dear. (Floy goes to the tele- 
phone, and calls tip Letitia in a lozv tone) . 

Mr. Hooker. (To Mrs. Hooker) Not a word 
about the failure. Let her enjoy herself to-night. 

Mrs. Hooker. But she can't be betrothed to 
Letitia ! 

Floy. (At telephone) I'm so glad you can 
come, Letitia. I'll send the car for you right away. 
No trouble. Good-bye, dear. 

Mrs. Hooker. Let's ask Mr. Pollard. 

Floy. Please, no, Mother, he has proposed to 
me at the last two dinner parties, and he is older and 



i 4 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

balder than Dad, and so stupid. But I love your 
bald spot, Daddie. 

Mrs. Hooker. Then there is Reginald Mont- 
gomery. 

Floy. Heaven preserve us from Reggie. He has 
been shopping with me all day, carrying my bundles. 
He's a faithful Fido, but I've had enough of him. 

Mrs. Hooker. How would you like to have him 
carry your bundles all your life? 

Floy. Mother, what is up? All of a sudden, 
you are an incorrigible match-maker. 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, faithfulness is a rare trait 
in man. Reggie has it. So had your father. 

Floy. Don't, don't put Father in a class with 
Reggie. 

Mr. Hooker. Thank you, my dear. 

Mrs. Hooker. Then if we're not to ask Reggie, 
what men shall we have? 

Floy. Why have any men? I'd like a rest from 
the male species. 

Mrs. Hooker. I know. I am going to ask 
Clinton Morgan. He's - a good boy. He has 
absolutely no vices. 

Floy. Did you ever think how absolutely damn- 
ing it is to describe a man negatively as having no 
vices ? t 

Mrs. Hooker. Your father never had any vices. 

Floy. Oh, Mother, Dad is a positive devil. 
That's why I adore him. 

Mrs. Hooker. Will you please select a— an- 
other devil for this evening? 

Floy. Mother, when I find a real man, I'll nab 
him. You leave that to mer- ■ 

- Mr. Hooker. By the way, I got a telephone call 
from an old friend of yours, Floy} Almost forgot. 
The young man we saw so much of the winter we 
were on the ranch in Texas. 

Mrs. Hooker. Last winter. You don't mean 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 15 

John Crandall? (Mr. Hooker nods assent) A 
splendid fellow, don't you think so, Floy? 

Floy. I'd rather not express my opinion of Jack 
Crandall. 

Mrs. Hooker."* Why not? 

Floy. I think he is positively hateful. 

Mr. Hooker. That's funny. He said he'd like to 
call while he was in town, providing you wanted to 
see him, Floy. He sort of underscored the provid- 
ing. 

Floy. Well, I don't. So there. He is an 
egotistical, domineering, opinionated — ugh! (She 
stamps with rage and rushes up stairs) 

Mrs. Hooker. He is the man. 

Mr. Hooker. I don't follow you, Mother. 

Mrs. Hooker. " Egotistical, domineering, opin- 
ionated " — that is why I selected you, Jim, and now 
see how I have improved you. 

Mr. Hooker. Mother, is this a time for joking? 

Mrs. Hooker. Quick. Where is he stopping? 
The Carleton? (Mr. Hooker nods weakly. Mrs. 
FIooker at the telephone) Main 26 A. May I speak 
to Mr. Crandall— Mr. John Crandall? Hello, hello, 
hello. Oh, is that you, Jack? I can see your tan 
-aright through the" : telephorie. You say you're not 
accustomed to telephones ? When you get used to 
them, you. can see right through a conversation.'. 
No, this is her mother. Yes, Mrs. Hooker. That is. 
a compliment. Floy is crazy to see you. Yes, in- 
deed. So are we all. Come right up. Come up to 
dinner, can't you? Good, we dine at seven.- Good- 
bye. (She Jiangs up the receiver) Now for the 
cook. If the dinner is only a good one, I think we 
may consider the million remaining in the family. 

Mr. Hooker. Sally, you ought to have been the 
financier of this family. 

Mrs. Hooker. Don't think me heartless, Jim. I 
wouldn't have her tied to anybody but her heart's 



16 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

choice, but now that I've found out who that choice 
is, she shall have him. 

Mr. Hooker. You couldn't have picked a finer 
man. But I don't think, with all your Napoleonic 
strategy, you can bring things to a head to-night. 

Mrs. Hooker. Any woman can be a Napoleon 
so far as strategy is concerned. We must turn de- 
feat into victory to-night. We have been going the 
pace that kills. I see it now — you with your busi- 
ness and I with my million interests, but we have a 
gambler's chance to-night. 

(Enter Steve Hooker in riding costume. He is a 
jolly, agile youth, with Jhe face of Michael 
Angelo's David and the spirit of Shakespeare's 
Puck.) 

Steve. Hello, folks. Had a bully ride on the 
boulevard. Just time for a shower before dinner. 
Gee, I miss the swimming pool at the dormitory. 
Glad to be home, just the same. (Half way up 
stairs, he leans over the banister and shouts) Say, 
Mater, met a college pal of mine and asked him to 
dinner. Thought you wouldn't mind. 

Mrs. Hooker. Not at all, Steve. The more the 
merrier. (Exit Mrs-. Hooker. Steve returns) 

Steve. He lives here, but not exactly in our set. 
But he's a prince. He's in my class — only a fresh- 
man, but there isn't a more popular man in college. 
Plays left guard on the first team. You mustn't 
show your ignorance about him, Dad, because every- 
body know he's made the all- American team. You 
may n6t like his looks. He's a sort. of a diamond in 
in the rough. ,T ^ave him an old Tuxedo of mine to 
wear. He hasn't any money. He couldn't have 
gone to college,' he told me, if the authorities hadn't 
paid his way. But he had his pick of colleges, I can 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 17 

tell you, and he took ours. Won't it be great for 
the old alma mater? 

Mr. Hooker. Steve, I can hardly keep my mind 
on this paragon of yours. Do I understand your 
college paid him for coming ? That certainly hasn't 
been my experience with you. 

Steve. But I'm not an athlete. You don't under- 
stand these things, Dad. But if you'd been to col- 
lege, you would. Hello, what's this? (He picks 
up the will which is lying open on the table) 

Mr. Hooker. That is your Aunt Sophia's will. 
Give it to me. 

Steve. (Looking it over) Will, eh? Floy gets 
her money, doesn't she? Aunt Sophia never did like 
me, nor any man, I guess. Great lot of red tape, 
this. 

Mr. Hooker. Who gaye you permission to read 
that? Hand it to me. : 

Steve. Now, Dad, why don't you let me know 
anything, about business ? Jumping Jupiter, what's 
this? -I can't make this out. Engaged? Floy 
doesn't qualify unless she is 

Mr. Hooker. Unless she is engaged before mid- 
night to-night. . • t 

Steve. What a lark J y . 

Mr. Hooker. Not exactly my idea of fun. 

Steve. But it's such a big gamble. Does Floy 
know? 

Mr. Hooker. No, and don't you tell her. But 
since you are so anxious to know about business, I 
may as well inform you : your dad's a failure. Our 
firm is about to make an assignment. 

Steve. No, you don't <say so?' Well — what -can 
I do to help you, t)ad ? 

Mr. Hooker. There's only one possibility, and 
that's Floy's engagement before midnight. I 
wouldn't do anything to urge the little girl, but if 



i8 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

it should happen, it would be the best thing for 
her — and for all of us. 

Steve. Poor old Floy. I tell you what. I'll see 
that she is engaged. You leave that to me. 

Mr. Hooker. Would you mind revealing the 
name of her future husband? 

Steve. Ted Stone, the foot ball hero, now on his 
way here to dinner. . 

Mr, HppKER. Why, she has never seen him, has 
she? 

Steve. That doesn't matter. To see him is to 
love him. All the girls in the stadium go wild about 
him. 

Mr. Hooker. Preposterous idea, boy. 

Steve. You don't know how these things go 
nowadays. Love-at-first-sight, — that's the rule. 
Why, I'd had the experience several times already — 
once in Paris, twice in Vienna, and '■ 

Mr. Hooker. You have had too damn many ex- 
periences. 

Steve. Well, Dad, the real bang-up love matches 
come with a zip-pop. We haven't time for the old- 
fashioned long protracted courting. 

Mr. Hooker. And one in every five of your rapid 
fire matches ends in the_ divorce court. 

Floy. (From up stairs) Dad, aren't you going 
to dress for dinner? (Floy runs down stairs, 
hooking her gown as she goes) 

Steve. My, Sis, but you are a dream. I know 
somebody's heart that's going to be awfully 
wrenched, to-night. 

Floy. Then it will be Letitia Brown's, for she 
is our only guest. 

Steve. Is that prune coming? Help! 

Floy. Wish you had half as many brains as 
'Letitia has. 

Steve. But there is somebody else coming— a 
foot ball hero — the foot ball hero, Ted Stone. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 19 

Floy. Ted Stone? I've heard his name. Seen 
his picture in football togs. Big fellow, isn't he? 

Steve. Big, that's what he is. And a lady killer. 
You had better be on guard, Sis. 

Floy. Silly. (TchMr. Hooker) Please, Daddy, 
dress for dinner." Fwant Letitia to think we always 
do it. Your things are all laid out. 

Mr. Hooker..- (Going gloomily tip sttiirs) And 
I will be laid out soon, I guess. If you two narum 
scarums hear a pistol snot when I reach my room — 

Floy. Then we'll know you're on 'the marks, 
Dad, and you've only a minute to dress in. Hurry, 
hurry. 

Mr. Hooker. Do we ever have more than a 
minute for anything? You may decide to get mar- 
ried, Floy, all in a minute. Who knows? Who 
knows? {Exit Mr. Hooker up stairs) 

(Floy bites her lip in vexation:) 

Steve. I'm with you, Dad. (Steve disappears 
tip stairs, running after his father) 

{Enter Mrs. Hooker.) 

Mrs. Hooker, A terrible thing has happened. 

Floy. Mother, what? 

Mrs. Hooker. (With tragic emphasis) The 
cook has gone. 

Floy. Gone ? What f or ? 

Mrs. Hooker. For good — at least for the Christ- 
mas holidays. 

Floy. Can't the other maids cook? 

Mrs. Hooker. Not a bit. 

Floy. How terrible. 

Mrs. Hooker. Terrible. 

Floy. I can make a lovely omelette. 

Mrs. Hooker. No one could desire more for a 



20 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

dinner party. No, child, I won't have you in the 
kitchen. I'll go out to get the meal. Don't tell any- 
body. It would be a scandal if it were known that 
I can cook. You tell thenrl hasve a headache, and 
you act as hostess. 

Floy. No, Mother, I know a better triek.J^fcet us 
call it a winter picnic and;.eat on the floor in front 
of the fire. Now that's a dear. You run and dress, 
and I'll arange the menu. I really can do something 
if you only give me a chance. Run and dress, that's 
a dear. 

Mrs. Hooker. All right. You always do have 
your own way. 

Floy. (Writing the menu) Let me see, what 
shall we have ? I know : baked beans — and brown 
bread — and potato salad at the Delicatessen, — and — 

Mrs. Hooker. (Starting to leave, . but return- 
ing) Floy, I have a presentiment. I — er — I had 
a dream last night. 

Floy. And you'll have dreams to-night, if you 
eat all the things I am going to have at our picnic. 
Why, Mother dear, aren't you well? What makes 
you look so queer? 

Mrs. Hooker. I have a presentiment 

Floy. (Writing) Wienies, dill pickles, lemon- 
ade, ice cream, angel food. What's that you are 
saying, Mother? 

Mrs. Hooker. I have a presentiment that you 
are going to meet your fate to-night — your — your 
future husband. 

Floy. Again ! Father and Steve and now you. 
Is this a conspiracy? (Exit Mrs. Hooker, with a 
gesture of abandon. Floy continuing to write and 
not observing her departure) W^hy have you de- 
cided, all of you, that I am going to plight my troth 
this night of all nights? Do you hear? I won't 
promise to marry anybody to-night — not if I never 
get married — never, never, never! 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 21 

(While Floy is making this declaration, Rita has 
ushered in Jack Crandall. Rita retires. 
Jack, back of Floy, is much amused by her 
tirade. Ife is a big, clean cut, handsome youth, 
. deeply tanned, wearing evening clothes with a 
certain natural grace, and- yet moving slowly 
and a bit azukwardly amid luxurious surround- 
ings. He is whimsically unconventional and 
speaks with a pleasing drawl.) 

Jack. Almost sounds like the last words you 
spoke to me, out on the plains of Texas last winter. 
Your voice has a mighty powerful carrying, quality, 
little girl. 

Floy. (Who has slowly turned around) ' Jack, 
it is you! I — I didn't think you'd ever come — you 
were so proud and — (He opens his arms and she 
rushes toward them) 

Jack. When you asked me, honey, how could I 
help it? 

Floy. (Pausing haughtily) When I asked you! 

Jack. Well your mother -over the telephone said 
that you all wanted me. 

Floy. Oh, Mother has been calling you up. 

Jack. I reckon that's what you call it. 

Floy. As soon as you arrived in town, I sup- 
pose ? 

Jack. Why not, honey? 

Floy. That explains it. And did you,- Mr. 
Crandall, think I had anything to do with this — this 
trap ? 

Jack. Why, I was lead to surmise, Miss Floy, 
that you all wanted to see me, but if you don't, well, 
I reckon I'd better be movin' on. (He moves to- 
ward the door, but is intercepted by Steve, who 
rushes down the stairs into his arms) 

Steve. Well, well, Jack, you old bronco buster, 
welcome to our city. 



22 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Jack. You had better put a halter on me, Steve, 
or I'll get lost in your city. Never was in a big 
city before — that is, since I could remember. Every- 
body seems in an awful hurry — wonder what they 
do with all the time they save? Just saw two auto- 
mobiles bump out here on the corner. No especial 
damage done, but even they didn't save their time. 

Floy. (Looking through the window) They're 
bringing somebody in here. Oh ! Oh ! It's Letitia. 
(Steve rushes to open the front door, and ushers 
in Ted Stone, carrying Letitia. Ted is fat, azvk- 
ward, bashful, taciturn. Letitia is a languishing 
aesthetic creature, gushing in garments as in 
speech. Ted deposits her on the divan, and she sits 
bolt upright. Enter Mr. Hooker, from the stairs, 
and Mrs. Hooker and Rita, both carrying thermos 
bottles and hampers of picnic provisions. Every 
one asks questions at once. General confusion) 
Letitia, are you hurt ? 

Letitia. Not a bit, my dear, but I am afraid your 
car is. While it was skidding, all I did was to sit 
still and squeal. I ought to have lived in the eigh- 
teenth century, Floy, when heroines were always 
squealing and fainting. Awfully bad form to faint 
nowadays. But I did — almost, and this man with- 
his strong arms — Oh, I am so grateful. 

Steve. Why if it isn't Ted Stone, good old scout, 
always in the center rush. Floy, Pater, Mater, this 
is Ted Stone. 

Letitia. Oh, to think I was saved by the great 
football hero ! 

Ted. There wasn't anything to save. I mean — 

Steve. Pretty close to a touch down, eh ? (Steve 
removes Ted's ulster, and reveals the latter 's pudgy 
figure almost bursting out of a suit several sizes too 
small for him) 

Ted. (Seizing Rita's hand and shaking it) 
Pleased to meet you, pleased to meet you. Steve 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 23 

has told me a lot about his — his peach of a sister. 
(Exit Rita. Ted to Steve) What's the matter? 
When it comes to butting into society, kid, I don't 
score. How does your suit look on me? Pretty 
swell fit, eh? 

Steve. Ted, it is a swell fit. This is my friend 
Mr. Stone, Mr. Crandall. 

(They shake hands.) 

Jack. Sorry that I am leaving, sir, just as you 
arrive. 

Mr. Hooker. W T hy, you are not leaving now, my 
boy. We haven't seen you yet. 

Mrs. Hooker. Jack, sit right down here. We're 
going to have a picnic lunch around the fire, a winter 
picnic, Floy calls it, all in your, honor. 

Letita. (Springing forth, and clasping Jack's 
hand) Jack! I knew it was Jack Crandall. Jack 
Crandall, I have dreamed of you. 

Jack. - Sorry, Miss — er 

Letitia. Brown. 

Jack. Sorry I can't return the compliment. 

Letitia. Of course you can't, as you never saw 
me before, but I've seen your picture recently, in one 
of the recent magazines. 

Jack. What magazine ? It was without my per- 
mission. 

Mrs. Hooker. Are we entertaining a celebrity, 
unawares? (Mrs. Hooker and Rita are spreading 
the cloth in front of the fire, and placing the viands 
thereon) 

Letitia. Why, don't you know what a lion you 
have lured? Don't you know, Floy? 

Floy. We met Mr. Crandall very casually on our 
trip south last winter and Mother asked him here 
this evening. I did not know he was in the city 
until he arrived. We know nothing else about him. 



24 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

But I always thought there was some mystery about 
you, Mr. Crandall. ' You seem like an escaped con- 
vict, or something. 

Letitia. Worse than that — a literary man. 

Jack. Please don't tell on me. 

Letitia. Oh, but I must. He writes stories, the 
loveliest and thrillingest stories about truth and 
purity and beauty — not a bit modern, you know, but 
I adore it. Do sit down here, Mr. Crandall, and 
you on the other side, Mr. Stone. Just think of 
having two lions to roar at one picnic. 

(All seat themselves except Floy. Rita passes the 
coffee, which Mrs. Hooker pours from thermos 
bottles. Ted and Steve eat ravenously.) 

Steve. What a lark ! I'll run you a race on the 
sandwiches, Ted. 

Ted. Ugh, huh. (Ted devours the food — a 
scream) 

Mr. Hooker. No, you don't, Steve. Take time 
to chew your food. People don't take time to eat 
nowadays. 

Jack. Nor to sleep, nor to walk, nor to talk. 

Letitia. Isn't it sad we have lost the eighteenth 
century art of conversation? 

Jack. And of letter writing. 

Floy. Telegrams are more to the point. 

Letitia. I have just been reading a volume of 
correspondence by William Cowper. In one of his 
letters — don't you adore them ? — he says something 
like this — it's so, so Cowperesque I can't help quot- 
ing it : "I have just time to observe that time is 
short," he says, the poor dear, living back in the 
nice quiet old eighteenth century — what would he 
say about the twentieth century? — " I have just time 
to observe that time is short, and by the time I have 
made the observation, time is gone." 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 25 

Mrs. Hooker. But, Letitia, tell us more about 
Mr. Crandall. 

Letitia. I know all about you, Mr. Crandall. 

Jack. That is more than I do. 

Letitia. I read it in the magazine article. So it 
must be so. 

Mrs. Hooker. Do tell us. 

Jack. Don't. 

Letitia. " When Mr. Jack Crandall, the cele- 
brated young writer of idealistic fiction, whose 
novels are beginning to sell in spite of their 
idealism " 

Steve. Gee, never dreamed you were a high- 
brow, Jack, when you and I were swapping yarns 
out on the plains. 

Jack. How do you define a highbrow, Steve? 

Steve. A highbrow is somebody who writes 
something nobody wants to read. 

Letitia. By the way, Mr. Crandall, what is your 
opinion of Brieux? 

Ted. (In a hoarse whisper, to Steve) Is it a 
cheese ? 

Letitia. And of Schnitzler? And of — 

Jack. I prefer Mark Twain and O. Henry. 

Steve. Hooray for America. 

Letitia. But you must know Mr. Crandall's 
history. When he was a very little boy in New York 
City, and his father was a missionary in Smyrna or 
somewhere, his mother died, and so, as the boy's 
health was then delicate, he was put on a ranch in 
Texas with a lot of books and kind people 

Jack. - Where he has been until this minute, 
getting outside of a big bunch of health, and, thank 
heavens, far from the madding crowd. 

Letitia. Yes, they say that is why your themes 
are so naive, because you know nothing about 
civilization. Is that so? 

Jack. Well, until this trip I was tolerably 



26 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

ignorant of sky scrapers, and telephones, and auto- 
mobiles, and all-night theaters, and smart sets, and 
frenzied finance and all the rest of the rush you all 
call civilization. Naturaly, I had read something 
about it, but there is a difference between reading of 
the European War and having your brains crazed 
by the breaking of shells over your head. 

Floy. Really, you preach as well as Father 
does — and most of the older generation — and along 
the same line. Personally I believe in this age. It 
is the age of progress. And I believe in America. 
It is the place where things are doing. Perhaps it 
won't do for romancers or sermonizers. 

Letitia. But tell me, Mr. Crandall, since you 
are such a hermit, such a recluse, such a — what shall 
I call it? — lover of the simple life, why did you 
abandon your sylvan solitude 

Steve. Not very sylvan. 

Letitia. And plunge into this seething crater of 



action 



Jack. I don't mind telling you, ma'am : I'm seek- 
ing a mate. 

Letitia. (Fluttering) Really, Mr. Crandall, 
you are charmingly unconventional. You mean, you 
are looking for a wife? 

Jack. The wife. 

Floy. Have you tried advertising? Perhaps 
you aren't aware that it pays to advertise — another 
hurry-up method. 

Jack. I reckon I will take a short cut method 
in lassoing my mate. I'll be leading her to the altar 
in a mighty few days. 

Steve. That's the talk. 

Ted. Isn't it getting warm here? 

Letitia. Then you have no faith in the old- 
fashioned, long protracted affaire de coeur? 

Jack. Not for me, ma'am. I reckon I'll be leav- 
ing this turmoil of a town to-morrow, and I 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 27 

shouldn't be surprised if I took my mate with me. 

Floy. Really,' I presume you'll club her over 
the head and prove yourself the superman. You'll 
excuse me, please. (Rita summons her to the tele- 
phone) I should love to hear more of your plans, 
the egoist is always so refreshing. 

Ted. I guess we're going to have another snow 
flurry. 

Floy. {At the telephone) Yes, Alice. Oh, is it 
to-morrow you start? Oh, I've always longed to 
take the Panama trip. You're a dear to ask me. 
Yes, I'll do it. You and Ned will be the j oiliest 
chaperones. Has he the reservations? Yes, you 
can depend on me. To-morrow at seven, at the 
Union Station. Good-bye. 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, I must say, Floy, you might 
have consulted your parents before embarking on 
the Panama trip. . 

Floy. I suppose I ought, but by the time we could 
have called a family council, it would have been too 
late to decide. Besides, it would have been settled 
this way any way. You always let me have my 
own way, you dears. Afraid I'll have to say good- 
night. Sorry, Letitia, to run away, but I don't 
believe you'll miss me, you have such congenial 
company. And I must direct Lucille with the pack- 
ing. Good-night. {Exit Floy into the hall) 

Mrs. Hooker. Floy, dear. 

Floy. {Re-entering) Yes, Mother. 

Mrs. Hooker. Now, Floy, won't you please 
give up this crazy notion and have a pleasant evening 
with us? 

Floy. Sorry, Mother, but you know how up- 
setting it is to change one's plans more than once. 

Steve. Oh, Floy, be a sport. Here is Ted Stone 
come especially to see you. 

Floy. And I will go especially to see him play 
foot ball next fail. 



28 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Jack. (Rising and detaining Floy) Miss Floy, 
I don't know much about etiquette, and I don't very- 
much care about it. I am not going to implore you, 
as the others have. I command you to come back 
and join this party given in your honor. It is the 
only appropriate thing for you to do, and if you 
don't, you'll regret it. I reckon you'll regret it. 

Floy. Mr. Crandall, I shall get one of your 
books to read on my trip. I am sure I shall enjoy 
it. 

Jack. I reckon you won't like my book any 
better than you do me. 

Floy. Oh, yes, I shall, because you have already 
proved yourself a master of fiction. (With a toss of 
her head, Floy disappears up stairs. Jack, who 
has been leaning against the table while talking 
to Floy, starts back, thereby upsetting the pile of 
Christmas packages which fall on the head of Ted 
Stone. All hurry to his assistance. General con- 
fusion) 

Curtain 



ACT II 



Scene: Same as preceding Act. No time is sup- 
posed to elapse between acts. All the char- 
acters, sitting about as at the end of Act I, 
look bored. A pause. 

Steve. (Funereal tone) The guests will kindly 
remain seated until the family have passed out. 
Not since Aunt Sophia's funeral have we had such 
a cheerful gathering. 

(Rita removes the dishes, assisted by Ted.) 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 2 g 

Mrs. Hooker. Stephen, won't you ever learn 
there s a time to weep and a time to laugh? 

Steve. A time to mourn and a time to dance. 
Let s have a dance. 

Letitia. Oh, let's. 

Ted. Where are the girls ? 

Letitia. I'm one. 

Mrs. Hooker. And I another. 

Steve. You're a good sport, Mater. Here vou 
fellows. Help me take up the rugs in the brniiard 

room) J LETITIA *•** the billiard 

1 fe?{^T B \ t^"'' We get rid of this ^ble? 
Thf if, fi°" gh T Were attendin rnry own funeral. 
this is a fine preparation for to-morrow's ordeal 
Mrs. Hooker. Nonsense. Young people take 
our minds off our troubles. Jim, you and I are just 
as young as the rest of them. Nobody ever gets old 

Dad I^rV^A 1104 « t0 Z™ «P now. 
Dad If Floy should become engaged to-night V ou 
could prevent the crash, couldn't you? I mea„ 
with the will as evidence ' 

Mr^ Hooker. It's possible, Mother, possible if- 
h« rf . IS A" e USe ° f talking about «& ifsf F oy 
she 8 £g l S do y es m '^ r °° m t0 -^ ht ' - d ^ 

Mrs Hooker. So does her mother. If nothinV 
else will work, I'll tell her evervthing. S 

V0^won'r° K r R - v N °' y ° U fflUStn '' t d0 that - Pr omise 

Mrs H„ ^V 6 ? * WOuld be selIin S her? 

manage h T™' ^ e "' Z WOn,t tdl her . •>«* we'll 

^SL/tTir going t0 g,ve up hope until the 

from the start, Floy with her society, Steve with ins 



30 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

sports, you with your philanthropy and heaven 
knows what, and me with my business, — we've all 
been going the pace that kills. 

Mrs. Hooker. And when we are killed, Dad, 
they will race us to our graves in aeroplane hearses. 

Mr. Hooker. No, Sally, we'll escape. Only the 
wealthy can afford to fly to eternal peace. 

{Re-enter Letitia and Jack, she chatting briskly 
to him. Lively dance music is heard,) 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, they've started the phono- 
..graph. I simply can't make my feet behave when I 
hear that, can you? 

Letitia. (To Jack) You will dance with me, 
won't you? 

Jack. I don't know any of these new steps you 
all are dancing. 

Letitia. I'll dance anything you do. Oh, think 
of having a great author for a partner ! 

Jack. But I can't go so fast. 

Letitia. I'll show you. (She whisks him off 
into the billiard room) 

Mrs. Hooker. Come, Father, let's have a turn. 

Mr. Hooker. Well, Mother, if you insist. 

.(They also whisk off into the billiard room. Enter 
Steve and Ted.) 






Steve. The chance I've been looking-for. Got 
something important to tell you Ted. 

Ted. Tell away. 

Steve. We are good pals, aren't, we, old scout ? 

Ted. I'm broke. What can I do for you ? 

Steve. There is something you can do — now 
don't get excited when I tell you. You can propose 
to my sister to-night. 

Ted. Propose? What? 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 31 

Steve. Marriage, of course. 

Ted. To-night ? 

Steve. To-night, before midnight, too. 

Ted. Your sister? 

Steve. Say, just let me sprinkle in a few dittos. 
Yes, my sister. Any objection? 

Ted. Is this a bet? 

Steve. No. On the square. 

Ted. Did you mean for me to marry her, too ? 

Steve, Sure thing. 

Ted. She wouldn't have me. 

Steve. She is dippy about you. 

Ted. She is? Well, I— I'd like to do what I 
can for you, Steve, but — well, I never proposed to a 
girl in my life. 

►Steve. You'll never have a better chance. 

Ted. Chance? Why, she isn't here. She has 
gone. 

Steve. Oh, the Materll get her back all right. 
Trust her. 

Ted. Your mother wants me to— to do this, too ? 
(Steve nods assent) What kind of a game is this? 
What's the matter with your sister? 

Steve. You'll kindly leave Floy's name out of 
this discussion. 

Ted. Oh! I'm to marry her, but I'm not to 
mention her. Unmentionable 

Steve. I can't explain it all to you now, but I 
will later. It involves — I thought you were the one 
man I could ask such a favor of, and now you are 
showing the white feather. 

Ted. But don't you see, kid, this is out of my 
line? Worse than math. {Mopping his brow) It 
makes me scared to think of it. 

Steve. Brace up, old man. Every man has to 
come to it sooner or later. It might as well be now. 

Ted. No, you'd better not count on me. Say, 
honest, aren't you kidding me? 



32 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Steve. Give me your hand. There's our 
fraternity grip. Now do you believe me? 
Ted. Yes, I believe you. 
Steve. It is unusual, I know, but 

(Mr. and Mrs. Hooker come in from the billiard 
room, dancing frantically. He sinks in a chair, 
exhausted.) 

Mr. Hooker. Help, Sally, have mercy on an old 
man. 

Mrs. Hooker. Why, father, can't you get your 
second wind? Ah, Mr. Stone, you're just the one. 
Let's have a good trot. Mr. Hooker is so easily 
discouraged. 

Ted. Thank you — er — but I don't know how. 
(He is seised by Mrs. Hooker, and off they cavort) 

Mr. Hooker. Steve, I am played out. 

Steve. Buck up, Dad. It's not so bad. 

Mr. Hooker. No use. Get me a whiskey and 
.soda, that's a good fellow. 

Steve. Here- you are, Dad, but go slow on the 
dope. 

Mr. Hooker. Can't go slow on anything. I've 
seen this coming for weeks, Steve. I've scarcely 
slept day or night. I've been watching for an op- 
portunity to stick the other fellow, fighting for a 
chance to rise to the surface, but all the while I've 
felt myself being tugged down, down into the whirl- 
pool. We do a lot of talk about cooperation, but 
the business war is on a bigger scale, that's all. 
Precious little of the golden rule about -it. Why, I 
could fix up my credit now, if they'd only give me 
a day or two. It's a great game, my boy, if you've 
got a fighting chance, but it's hell when you're sink- 
ing to the bottom — that's what it is, hell. 

Steve. Don't worry, Dad. Floy and I are going 
to fix you up all right. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 33 

Mr. Hooker. Keep the little girl out of it. Poor 
thing, she'll suffer soon enough. Guess we've 
brought you youngsters up the wrong way. 

Steve. Whatever happens, Dad, you can't take , , 
away my year at college. Think of the prestige that , 
will give me. Why, if you hadn't sent me east to 
college, I never would have known Ted Stone ! 

Mr. Hooker. I can imagine worse calamities. 

Steve. Wouldn't you be surprised, if Ted pulled 
us out of the hole? 

Mr. Hooker. What are you driving at, Steve ? 

{Enter Rita from the hall, ushering in Alosius .,/■■' 
Bartholomew, a dapper bachelor, an up-to- 
date college professor, who speaks with stacatto 
precision and rapidity, and uses jerky gestures 
as though he zvere delivering a popular lecture.) 

Alosius. (Giving his card to Rita who goes up f 1 
siairs) For the ladies. Good evening, gentlemen. 
Is this Mr. Hooker? I am Alosius Bartholomew, 
sometimes known as Dr. Bartholomew. 

Mr. Hooker. This is my son, Dr. Bartholomew. 
You are a physician? 

Alosius. Merely a physician to sick minds. I 
am a college professor, I must confess. I really 
prefer not to be called " Doctor." It is a Ph. D., 
you know, which I picked up in Germany before 
the war. 

Mr. Hooker. Oh ! What is your specialty ? 

Steve. Your department, sir? 

Alosius. Social science, the great department, 
the growing department. You, sir, as a man of 
business, must endorse the various phases of our 
work, — sociology, economics, money, banking. We 
even have courses in business. We are nothing if 
not practical, sir. Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency, — 
that is the watchword of modern education. All 



34 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

the students elect courses in our department. I 

Steve. Which is your college, sir? 

Alosius. You don't know? 

Steve. I am just home for my vacation. I go 
east to college. 

Alosius. There is nothing like the east. I am an 
easterner myself. But I have to teach here, here 
in the big university. I 

(Re-enter Rita.) 

Rita. Miss Floy will be down directly, sir. 

Mr. Hooker. Are you sure she is coming ? 

Rita. Yes, — sir. (Exit^RiTA) 

Alosius. What was I saying ? Oh, yes, our 
university is a tremendous plant. Several new 
buildings are going up every year. It is not men 
but buildings — that is what makes the enrollment 
grow. We are close to the top in attendance, one of 
the largest institutions in the country, sir. 

Mr. Hooker. It must be very satisfactory to 
come in intimate contact with so many young minds. 

Alosius. Intimate contact? I don't know one 
student from another in my classes. All my work 
is lecture work, and my assistant reads the papers. 
No, sir, teaching is a mere incident in the day's 
drudgery. 

Me. Hooker. Afraid I haven't kept up with 
modern educational methods. 

Alosius. Apparently not, sir. But you are a 
business man and you know the advantage of 
organization. 

Mr. "Hooker. And the disadvantage. 

Alosius. Precisely. And the disadvantage. Our 
whole problem is one of organization, reorganiza- 
tion, systematization. We are growing, we need con- 
stant readjustment. We have committee meetings 
before breakfast, at midnight, any time, all the time. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 35 

Whatever else you may say about our standards, we 
are not quiescent. 

Mr. Hooker. You must be glad of this holiday 
vacation. 

Alosius. Vacation? Ha, that is the business 
man all over again. Vacation? Why, sir, I am 
busier during vacation than any other time. 

Mr. Hooker. I don't understand. 

Steve. Whv 5 reading and preparing his lectures. 
Dad 

Alosius. Sorry to explode that illusion, my son. 
JL-never- have time to read, and my lectures were 
prepared years ago. No, aside from attending 
various national conventions — similar to those of 
the labor unions — my time is taken up with the 
writing of books. 

(Letitia dashes in from the billiard room.) 

Letitia. Oh, Professor Bartholomew, did I hear 
you say you are writing a book ? 

Alosius. Delighted to see you, Miss — er 

Letitia. Brown. 

Alosius. Brown. Yes, I know your face per- 
fectly — Brown. But I see so many faces. I 

Letitia. Yes, that is the way with all of us, 
don't you feel? We are adrift amid a sea of faces. 
You remember what Bacon says? 

Alosius. What Bacon? 

Letitia. Bacon says : " A crowd is not company ; 
and faces are but a gallery of pictures ; and talk 
but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love." 
Oh. Professor, don't you feel the truth of that? 
(Jack saunters in from the billiard room) Ah, here 
is another author man. Mr. Crandall, this is Mr. — 
Professor — Doctor Bartholomew. 

(Jack and Alosius shake hands.) 



36 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Alosius. (Eyeing Jack suspiciously) You are 
a writer ? 

Jack. Yes, I write for a living, but 

Alosius. That's it. That's it. I, too, write for a 
living. We don't get our positions, we professors, 
because we can teach, but because we are the makers 
of many books. I am now writing ten thousand 
words a day. Do you wonder I am a nervous 
wreck ? I 

(Enter Mrs. Hooker.) 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, Alosius, I am so glad to see 
you, and so sorry Floy can't see any one this even- 



(Enter Floy from the staircase, in another gown 
more ravishing than the preceding one.) 

Floy. Why, Mother, I am always at home to 
Alosius. 

Alosius. Tu me flatte, Mademoiselle. As I was 
just telling your father, — curious that we have not 
met before — I 

Mrs. Hooker. Not so very curious, Alosius. 
This is the first time in years that Father and I 
have been home at the same time. Not that we 
are applying for a divorce, or anything of that 
"sort, but he has so many clubs, conventions, banquets 
and what not, and I so many social obligations, that, 
although we sometimes manage to go out together, 
we're never at home together. 

(Jack jots down some notes.) 

Alosius. Precisely. Modern conditions. Every- 
body is a specialist — which reminds me of the book 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 37 

I am writing. It is entitled, " The Quintessence of 
Americanism." 

Floy. Have you put me in it, Alosius ? 

Alosius. You, Floy, are the American girl, and 
therefore you defy analysis, but I have summed up 
the debutante, as follows: breakfast party, bridge, 
luncheon, tea, dinner, theater, dance, supper with a 
spectacular orgy while you eat, — all in twenty-four 
hours. Not exaggerated? 

Floy. You have left out an occasional shopping 
tour and a dash of philanthropy. A bud's business 
is to have a good time, and why shouldn't she ? I 
have had a pretty full schedule, but I love it. I am 
not bored. 

Jack. Do you realize what it will all lead to, if 
you keep up this wild pace? 

Floy. More good times. It's like a snow ball — 
the more you roll it 

Jack. No, I'll tell you the goal : insanity, crime. 

Floy. (Turning her back on Jack) Unfor- 
tunately you have hit upon Mr. Crandall's hobby, 
but I am interested in your point of view, because „ 
you know what you are talking about. Poor Mr. 
Crandall is like an Adam emerging from his Eden, 
or a Rip VanWinkle from his sleep. (Facing Jack) 
Please don't take notes. I feel as awkward as 
though I were posing for a moving picture, 

Jack. Beg pardon, I am not usually so rude, 
but this is all so extraordinary 

Floy. I presume you are going to put us in a 
novel. 

Jack. Yes. 

Letitia. Oh, what will be the title, Mr. Crandall ? 
Do tell us. 

Tack. I think I shall call it "The Driving of 
Jehu ". 

Floy. I am interested in your book, Alosius. 



3 8 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Tell me some more about " The Quintessence of 
Americanism." 

Alosius. {Standing behind a table, as though he 
were deliverinc a lecture) I begin with statistics. 
There is nothing so impressive nowadays as 
statistics. It doesn't matter whether they are true or 
not, but statistics we must have. So I begin with 
our greatest extravagance. We prate about being a 
dry nation, while we are spending two billions of 
dollars a year for intoxicating liquors — that's a fact. 
TJaen comes tobacco, a close second, with a one bil- 
lion two hundred million dollar output. Tobacco is 
your genuinely American product. Strange, when 
we stop to think of it, how we all make chimneys of 
ourselves, in emulation of the red man, even our 
smart society women following suit. Third comes 
jewelry, with only eight hundred million dollars. 
Next, in order of expenditure, are automobiles, home 
churches, confectionery, temperance drinks, tea and 
coffee and patent medicines, while at the foot of the 
list, at a mere thirteen millions each, there is a tie 
between foreign missions and chewing gum. 

Jack. You all might like to add to your statistics 
these facts. First, immediately before the war, for 
every death from accident or violence in all Europe 
there have been six in the United States. Second, 
during the next ten years the cosmopolis of the 
world, New York City, will burn five hundred mil-f 
lion dollars' worth of buildings and their contents. 
Third, the single state of Arkansas for one year 
has reported more murders than the whole dominion 
of Canada. What does it all mean? Haste, waste, 
madness. 

Floy. Mr. Crandall, you should have been a 
preacher. 

Alosius. I'm going to put that in my " Quintes- 
sence of Americanism "J •■ In America, everybody is 
his own preacher; accordingly nobody goes to 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 39 

church. Not bad, that, struck off at Rooseveltian 
random, as it were. 

Floy. . I know why you men — Father and Mr. 
Crandall and yourself — are all down on this age. 
You are all a part of the hurry — even Mr. Crandall 
from Texas — but you all rebel. That is because you 
are men. Women are more adaptable. Now 
Mother and I like to be doing things all of the 
time. 

Alosius. Yes, but I 

Floy. Let us go into the study, Alosius. It is 
quiet there and I want to hear more about your book. 
{Exeunt Floy and Alosius, chatting, his "1" 
reverberating amid the conversational din. Exeunt 
Steve, Ted and Letitia into the billiard room, 
where music and laughter are heard. Jack sits de^Af* j, 
jectedly in a corner) n^** 

Mr. Hooker. (To Mrs. Hooker, not noticing 
Jack) Suppose she should marry that Alosius of 
yours? That would be worse than the poor house. 

Mrs. Hooker. He is not my Alosius, but he is 
a very affable and efficient man. He has been direct- 
ing the dispensation of my charity funds and he has 
suggested what I should say at the Board of 
Directors' meetings at the Settlement House. 

Mr. Hooker. Yes, but 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, there is no doubt about his 
efficiency, Father. I learned that word from him. 
He is director of the State Bureau of Labor, and — 

Mr. Hooker. For heaven's sake, Sally, don't 
tell me any more things that he does. You might 
as well name the fifty-seven organizations I belong 
to. What will I belong to after to-morrow? Sally, 
I — I can't bear to be a has-been. It would be better 
for you if you had my life insurance. 

Mrs. Hooker. Jim, don't talk that way. You/f 
are breaking my heart. (Turning to Jack) He is^/ 
tired, Jack. Fie doesn't know what he is saying. 



4 o HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Mr. Hooker. Beg pardon, Jack. Didn't know 
you were here. Thought we were alone. Guess I 
will go to my room and rest a bit. Good-night, 
Sally. (He kisses her) 

Mrs. Hooker. Why, Jim, a second time to-day ! 
You are not yourself. (She almost breaks down) 

Mr. Hooker. Well, I won't offend again. Good- 
night, Mother. 

Jack. What you need is a rest, sir. 

Mr. Hooker. (Going up stairs) Yes, all I need 
is a rest, rest. (Exit Mr. Hooker up stairs) 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, Jack — we got so well ac- 
quainted last winter, I call you Jack without think- 
ing. You don't mind, do you? 

Jack. (Taking her hand and sitting beside her) 
Nothing I like better. 

Mrs. Hooker. You are such a comfort. You 
seem just like a son to me. Oh, I didn't mean any- 
thing by that. I — we are so awfully upset to-night. 
I have half a mind to tell you all about it. 

Jack. I wish you would. Maybe I could help 
you all. 

Mrs. Hooker. Yes, I believe I will. No, no, I 
can't. Jack, I like you. You are not a bit like an 
author. 

Jack. Thank you. 

Mrs. Hooker. Why didn't you tell us you were 
one? 

Jack. Because that was an avocation. By pro- 
fession I am a bronco buster. 

Mrs. Hooker. There's nothing in your stories, 
I'll warrant, as queer as in our lives this minute. 
Truth is always stranger than fiction. That's why I 
don't take the time to read fiction. 

Jack. Tell me your troubles. Do you know, I 
almost call you " Mother " ? I never knew my 
mother and you 

Mrs. Hooker. There, boy, I will tell you. But 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 41 

it is all so impossible. To begin with, Aunt Sophia 
is highly improbable. She was a spinster, a very 
spinsterish spinster. She had a warm heart. She 
should have been a mother. 

Jack. But what has Aunt Sophia to do with 
your husband's failure ? 

Mrs. Hooker. Failure? Is it known? Who 
told you? 

Jack. I couldn't help overhearing what he just 
said. 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, that is to-morrow. But to- 
night — Oh, I can't tell you, Jack. 

Jack. To get back to Aunt Sophia 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, Aunt Sophia is dead, and 
she left a will which specified that her fortune, 
something over a million, should go to Floy, if she 
is engaged before midnight to-night and is married 
before a year from to-night. . Otherwise it will all 
go to a home for spinsters. Aunt Sophia was 
engaged, but 

Jack. The will specifies that Floy must be 
engaged before this midnight ? 

Mrs. Hooker. Yes, because to-morrow she is 
twenty-one. 

Jack. Does Floy know about the will ? 

Mrs. Hooker. Nothing. 

Jack. And you all expect the financial crash to- 
morrow, you say? 

Mrs. Hooker. Yes. 

Jack. And is Miss Floy engaged? 

Mrs. Hooker. {Looking apprehensively at the 
study door) No, that is, not that I know of. 

Jack. I am afraid that I can't help you out, after 
all, Mrs. Hooker. 

Mrs. Hooker. Yes, you can. Jack, sit down. I 
am sick of being an American parent. 

Jack. I beg pardon? 

Mrs. Hooker. We parents don't dare say our 



kno 

J 



42 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

souls are our own, in the presence of our children. 
We let them marry counts or no-accounts, and 
muddle their love affairs generally, when just a word 
from us might set everything right — just a word. 
Sometimes I wish I were French. Jack, you are an 
unconventional young man, you say. Let me be un- 
conventional, too. Why don't you propose to Floy 
to-night ? 

Jack. Don't you see that your revelation makes 
that out of the question? 

Mrs. Hooker. I see nothing of the sort. Now I 
am speaking frankly. I never can get any informa- 
tion from my own children, but perhaps you can tell 
me. Weren't you engaged to Floy last winter? 

Jack. Yes. 

Mrs. Hooker. Just what I suspected. And now 
the engagement is broken. 

Jack. How did you know that? 

Mrs. Hooker. Who wouldn't? Now, my dear 
boy, why not renew it? I think Floy really cares 
for you, but she is very impulsive. {Glancing at 
the study door) She needs a steadying influence 
like yours. 

Jack. Mrs. Hooker, I — I can't discuss this. 

Mrs. Hooker. You still care for her, Jack. I 
know you do. 

ack. Yes. And I intend to win her. 

Mrs. Hooker. Then you will. Oh, Jack, you 
dear boy, I am so happy. I feel as though I were 
engaged" myself. 

Jack. But not to-night. 

Mrs. Hooker. And why not to-night ? 

Jack. Surely you understand. It is a matter of 
honor. I could not take advantage of Floy in this 
way. I — don't you see? — I care for her, not her 
money. 

Mrs. Hooker. Why not have both ? Now, Jack, 
don't think me crafty and calculating, but ■ really i 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 43 

aren't your southern ideals of honor and chivalry 
impractical ?. 

Jack. I'd feel a cad the rest of my life, if I 
urged my suit to-night, after knowing the real situa- 
tion. 

Mrs. Hooker. Then I made a mistake in telling 
you? 

Jack. Sorry, Mrs. Hooker. 

Mrs. Hooker. I gave you credit for more com- 
mon sense. Do you realize that you are sacrificing 
all of us — not simply Floy — but her family, yes, 
and your family, too, — all because of your perverted 
sense of honor? If you didn't love her, it would be 
different. 

Jack. That is why I can't urge her to-night. I 
reckon I'd better be takin' my departure now. 

Mrs. Hooker. And leave the field to Alosius? 
Hadn't you better hang around on the outskirts, 
Jack? 

Jack. I wish I could help you all. 

(Enter Floy and Alosius from the study, and 
Letitia, Steve and-^D from the billiard 
room.) 

Letitia. Oh, Mr. Crandall and Mr. Barthol- 
omew, learn the latest dance. The boys are teach- 
ing us. It is a dream. 

Steve. A scream. 

Letitia. It is called the Ice Slip. {Exeunt, 
chatting, Letitia, Ted, Jack and Alosius to bil- 
liard room) 

Floy. What is the matter, Mother? You look 
a bit fagged. n^ 

Mrs. Hooker. Not a bit, Floy, but I guess I'll „ 

go and finish that play of Shaw's I was reading, c/f*^ 
He always rests me, he makes me so mad. Speak- 



44 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

ing of Shaw, why don't you imitate his heroines? 
Lots of nice girls do. 

Floy. Mother, what do you mean by that? 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, Floy, now don't be shocked. 
Why don't you propose to Jack ? 

Floy. Mother, I am not shocked, but I am 
surprised at you — disgusted. Please understand: 
I don't need to run after men, and as for Mr. 
Crandall, I shall have nothing more to do with him, 
nothing. If you have been giving him any false 
impressions 

Mrs. Hooker. I give it up. (Exit Mrs. Hooker 
in the study) 

Floy. What is the matter with Mother? 

Steve. Well, I don't know as that's such a bad 
idea of hers about a girl's proposing. 

Floy. Oh, Steve, what do you know about pro- 
posals ? 

Steve. I've received many proposals myself, 
Sis. But do you know there is a fellow here to- 
night, in this very house, who is sizzling, boiling, 
busting with — with ardor for you. 

Floy. Don't be silly. 

Steve. I am not the silly one. He is. He told 
me all about it. 

Floy. Why, if he is in such a desperate condi- 
tion, does he interview little brother? I could put 
him out of his agony directly. All you have to do to 
make a man perfectly happy is to say No. 

Steve. But he is too modest to pop the question. 
He — he doesn't think he is worthy of you. 

Floy. Who is this phenomenon? 

Steve. Ted Stone. 

Floy. Ted Stone? (Laughing merrily) Why, 
Steve boy, how could you get such a hallucination? 
It was only a few moments ago that I first set eyes 
on Ted Stone's imposing contour. 

Steve. His what? This is a case of love at first 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 45 

sight. You're badly hit, too, I can see that. You 
can't fool me. All the girls are wild about him. 
There never has been such a left guard, Sis. 

Floy. Oh, brother mine, do you think that great 
big heart of his is cracked, shattered by little me? 
(She laughs delightedly) 

Steve. Yes, and I don't see anything to laugh 
about. No use of procrastination in these matters. 
Why don't you do the Shaw heroine act? Mater is 
right. But she picked the wrong man. 

Floy. Steve, I'd like to shake you. What do 
you mean, you and Mother, by pestering me in this 
way ? Trthought one night at home would be a rest. 
All I've had dinned in my ears since my coming out 
party has been men, men, men, marriage, marriage, 
marriage, hurry, hurry, hurry, — but I certainly ex- 
pected better things from you and Mother. What is 
your game, any way? 

Steve. Don't be frivolous, Sis. This is serious. 

Floy. Why serious? Afraid I'll be an unhappy 
old maid, as Aunt Sophia was? Just because I'm 
twenty-one to-morrow? There are lots of older 
girls. Don't you worry, little boy, about my stock 
on the matrimonial market. You and Mother are 
not exactly flattering. Dad wouldn't be so anxious 
to dispose of me to the first comer. 

Steve. You're right there. Dad expressly 
stipulated — Oh! I mean 

Floy. WTiat did Dad stipulate? 

Steve. Oh, nothing. 

Floy. Steve, I've felt all the evening there is 
something happening I don't know anything about. 
Nobody acts natural. Everybody is matrimonially 
crazy. What is in the air ? 

Steve. Sis, take my advice, and ask no questions. 
Ted Stone 

Floy. What does it mean? 

Steve. It means, Sis, you've got to be engaged 



46 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

to-night. You may as well understand first as last, 
and you can't find a huskier, handsomer man than 
Ted Stone. I've lived in the same dormitory with 
him, next door, for a whole half year, and I know 
him through and through. He is a brick, solid, on 
the square, and, what's more, he is willing to marry 
you on the spot. 

Floy. He is willing? I am overcome with 
gratitude. Steve, you ought to be in the kinder- 
garten. What do you mean by this nonsense ? What 
has put this ridiculous idea in your head that I have 
to be engaged to-night? Twenty-one isn't too old, 
for matrimony, — no, nor sixty-one these days. 

Steve. If you aren't engaged before midnight, 
you lose Aunt Sophia's million. 

Floy. Do you think you are going to bully me 
into favoring this sausage-faced paragon of yours? 
As for Aunt Sophia, I happen to know that she left 
everything to me — not that it matters. 

Steve. Only on one condition. (He opens the 
desk, and shows her the will, pointing to the pas- 
sage) 

Steve. Read that passage. See for yourself. 

Floy. (Having read it) Poor old Aunt Sophia. 
Well I think the superannuated spinsters ought to 
have a good home. 

Steve. So ought we. 

Floy. We have. 

Steve. To-morrow — good-bye everything. 

Floy. Steve, please, don't joke like that. 

Steve. To-morrow the firm busts, and Dad says 
he won't have a cent in the world. No joke. 

Floy. Steve, it's cruel of you to — (She almost 
faints, but regains control of herself. Steve leads 
her to a chair) 

Steve. There, there, Sis, sorry I told you. I 
always make a mess of everything. 

Floy. You did right, Steve, old boy. I should 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 47 

know. That is why Dad has been so disturbed all 
the evening and Mother so queer. That's what she 
meant about getting engaged to Jack. Ridiculous. 
He — he doesn't care about me, nor I him. 

Steve. But there is Ted Stone. He is right there 
with the goods. Don't look so scornful. He is 
pretty near as old as you. And you don't have to 
ask him if you don't want to. I'll do it for you. 
You see, he's too bashful. But I'll be the go- 
between, the way they do in Japan. {Calling from 
billiard room door) Ted, come here a minute. 

Floy. Steve, I'd marry a tadpole sooner than 
this Ted of yours. 

{Enter Ted Stone, blushing. Steve makes 
pantomimic insinuations, behind Floy. Ted 
tries to escape, but Steve pushes him forward 
and himself disappears.) 

Ted. Did you call? 

Floy. No. 

Ted. Neither did I, that is, I mean— Guess 
I started without the signal — You know when I 
came here I thought you was the pretty girl — of 
course you are pretty, too — but I thought you was 
that real pretty girl with the white apron and cap 
and curls and things. Gee, she is a peach. Of 
course you are a peach, too,— I mean, I thought you 
was her and she was you and I — I — say, I can't do 
all the talking. You've got the ball now— touch 
down! Touch down. Stone wall! 

Floy. # {Glancing at him icily from the will she 
is perusing) I beg your pardon, Mr. Stone? 

_ Ted. The pleasure is mine — er, I mean I'd 

like to meet the guy with a pail of water and a 
sponge. Time out. Say, I'm so floosy I don't know 
whether I am making a drop kick or an off side 



48 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

play— I feel like a fly on the fly paper. I don't 
know whether I am going or coming. 

Floy. Will you do me a favor? 

Ted. (Mopping his brow) I'd like to — I — I'd 
like to, but, you see, I don't belong in this game. I 
am just a substitute. Honest, I don't think I am 
your man. 

Floy. Mr. Stone, will you do me a great favor? 

Ted. Well, since you put it that way, — yes. 

Floy. Leave me alone. That is all I ask. I 
haven't had a waking moment alone for months and 
months. I must have a chance to think. You don't 
mind leaving me ? 

Ted. Nothing I'd rather do, that is, I didn't mean 
that exactly. I mean, I'd rather do what you don't 
want me to do. No, I don't want me to do what 
you want me to do. I don't want to do what you 
want me to do. I — Oh, gosh! (Ted edges away 
sheepishly, then lifts his feet and vanishes) 

Floy. (Examining the will, unconscious of 
Ted's departure) Mr: Stone — (Alosius hurries 
in from the billiard room. Finding Floy alone, 
he poses himself back of her, leaning against a 
table) To- use your own figure of speech, aren't 
you still on the fly paper? 

(Alosius springs from the table in agitation, but 
regaining his poise, approaches Floy senti- 
mentally.) 

Alosius. Maiden meditation, fancy free. 

Floy. On the contrary, I am thinking of busi- 
ness. 

Alosius. Business, that's my motto. Efficiency, 
business. 

Floy. (Toying zvith the will) This is unusual 
business. It is a will. 

Alosius. Law suit pending? 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 49 

Floy. No. 

Alosius. I take it that you are concerned. 

Floy. You take it correctly, Alosius. Perhaps 
you would like to examine this. 

Alosius. The law is not my specialty. We are 
all specialists, you know. Indeed, I treat only one 
small branch of my own field of investigation — I — 

Floy. There is something here which is your 
specialty. fiJL***^ 

Alosius. How so? 

Floy. " Business, efficiency." Just read that 
short paragraph. (He does so with amazement) 
You seem surprised. 

Alosius. Astounded. 

Floy. What do you advise me to do ? 

Alosius. When are you twenty-one? 

Floy. At midnight, to-night. 

Alosius. You are contemplating breaking the 
will? 

Floy. No, I shouldn't want to do that. Queer 
as Aunt Sophia was, I have respect for her wishes. 
Besides, we have no money with which to fight it. 

Alosius. You have no money ! Pardon my sur- 
prise. It is only college professors who have a 
right to such rash statements. Now if I had said 
that I had no money, I 

Floy. To-morrow you and everybody will know 
that Father has failed. We shall have nothing 
unless 

Alosius. Unless ? 

Floy. Unless I 



Alosius. I see. Bankruptcy — who would have 
thought it? Curious will, that, very curious. She 
must have wanted awfully to get married, your aunt, 
I mean. She must have wanted it as badly — as I 
have wanted to get married. 

Floy. You ? 

Alosius. Yes, as I do want to, if I can find the 



50 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

right girl. Slow and sure has been my motto in 
these matters. I have been engaged three times 
already. 

Floy. Oh ! 

Alosius. Yes, three times. Each of the girls 
young, winsome, wealthy. A professor with no in- 
dependent income, with all of his wealth in his 
brains, as you might say, — well, a professor, I 

Floy. A professor must not neglect the money 
end of matrimony? 

Alosius. Quite right. 

Floy. Then why don't you marry one of the 
three elect? 

Alosius. All married and have babies. 

Floy. , Then their hearts aren't broken? 

Alosius. I've often wondered. Have you had — -• 
er — any such affairs, may I ask? 

Floy. Yes, you may ask. No, I haven't had any 
such affairs as you have had. Isn't there an old 
saying that women love but once ? 

Alosius. (Drazving the portieres) And "men 
were deceivers ever, one foot on land and one on 
shore " 

Floy. {Anticipating his intention) Oh, please 
don't take the trouble to kneel. 

Alosius. You have had experience too? 

Floy. Oh, yes, I have had proposals walking, 
riding, sailing, swimming, even one in an aeroplane, 
but kneeling is really out of date. 

Alosius. The youngest of mine liked it. 

Floy. But she belonged to another generation. 

Alosius. To come to the point. 

Floy. Yes, let us talk business, Alosius. 

Alosius. Why not mix a little sentiment with 
the business? 

Floy. Nonsense. I feel as though we were 
married already, Alosius, our relations are so 
prosaic. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 51 

Alosius. Then you will marry me? Floy, 
you ■ 

Floy. I don't know whether I will or not. Let 
us talk it over. 

Alosius. Your moods are so disconcerting, Floy. 
How you have changed. 

Floy. Yes, I have been a silly young girl, but 
now I am a thinking woman. I want to strip off all 
sentimentality from this relationship, Alosius, be- 
cause there isn't any sentiment in it. 

Alosius. You don't like me? 

Floy. Oh, yes, Alosius, I like you well enough. 

Alosius. I adore 

Floy. Please don't use that word. It is passe. 
But it is getting late. {Glancing at the clock) 
Let's get right down to brass tacks. I am willing 
to marry — at least I am considering — marrying a 
respectable man, who — You are respectable, aren't 
you? 

Alosius. Why, — er— yes, I think I might be 
called respectable. 

_ Floy. Well, I am considering such an alliance 
simply and solely to save my family from financial 
ruin. You, on the other- hand, are looking for a 
nice girl with money. I am the nice girl and here 
{Holding up the zvill) is the money. 

Alosius. By gad, you are up to the minute. 

Floy. Well, time is flying. If you won't take up 
this proposition, I'll have to find somebody else be- 
fore midnight. Is it a bargain? Hurry! 

Alosius. We'll seal the bargain with a kiss. 

Floy. No, no, no, don't you dare touch me. i 

Alosius. What kind of a bargain are you talk- 
ing about? 

Flo^t. I don't know. Let me go. {Struggling 
against his embrace) Let me go, I say. 

Alosius. You have been playing with me long 



52^ HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

enough, you coquette. But I know how to tame you. 
Floy. How dare you — how dare — Oh! 

(Enter Jack through billiard room portieres. 
Alosius quickly releases Floy.) 

Jack. You blackguard. How dare you insult 
this lady? If it weren't for her presence, I'd knock 
you down, sir. 

(Attracted by the commotion, all hurry in, with the 
exception of Mr. Hooker.) 

Alosius. It is you who owe the apology to every- 
body present, especially to Miss Hooker, for she has 
just consented ,to be my wife. 

Mrs. Hooker. Engaged to you? (Mother and 
daughter weep on each other's necks. Awkward 
pause) 

Alosius. Well, this is highly complimentary. I 
feel overwhelmed by all of your congratulations. 

Letitia. Oh, I want somebody's shoulder to weep 
on. (She joins the weeping chorus. A noise, as 
though of a pistol shot, is heard up stairs. Everyone 
is alert with alarm) 

Mrs. Hooker. Oh, it is your father! (She 
totters and Jack catches her) 

Steve. (Springing toward the stairs) A pistol 
shot ! Dad, dad ! 

(Mr. Hooker in dressing gown comes down the 
stairs.) 

Mr. Hooker. (Yawning) Just started to take 
a little nap when the wind banged that damned 
door. Oh, I beg pardon, ladies and gentlemen. 
Guess I am not quite awake. Sonny, mix me a high 
ball. 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 53 

Mrs. Hooker. Jim, are you sure you are not 
hurt? 

Mr. Hooker. Hurt? What you all looking so 
sad about? 

Mrs. Hooker. Floy has just announced her 
engagement. 

Mr. Hooker. Announced her engagement? My 
boy, (Turning to Jack and clasping his hand) you 
deserveher. I congratulate you. Lemme see, what 
time is it ? (He looks at his watch, holding it in his 
left hand, while still gripping Jack's hand with his 
right) Half-past eleven. Bravo! On time, my 
boy, on time. 

(Jack seizes his hat and coat, and dashes out 
through the hall. The door is heard to bang.) 

Curtain 



ACT III 



Scene: Same as preceding Act. No time is sup- 
posed to elapse between acts. The characters 
are grouped as at the end of Act II. The 
outer door is heard to close as Jack departs. 

Letitia. Poor dear Mr. Crandall, he looked so- 
so unhappy as he left. I am so sorry for him. 

Alosius. Personally, I must say I feel no regret 
at his departure. 

Floy. Mother, dear, don't cry any more. 

Mrs. Hooker. The trouble is that this is so— so &lM> 
sudden. 

m Floy. Everything is sudden, you know, Mother 
m these days. 

Letitia. Our arrival here, Mr. Stone, was so 



54 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

sudden. Teehee ! I skidded right into your arms, 
didn't I ? It makes me think of Tagore. I don't 
know why. Some of his thrilling oriental things, 
you know. It was so so elemental. 

Ted. Aw, you got the wind knocked out of you — 
that's all. Few minutes for time out, and now 
you're back in the game. 

Letitia. Your imagery is so — so futurist, Mr. 
Stone, you really ought to write poetry. 

Steve. Old Ted a poet ! Ha, ha ! 

Letitia. Why not. Modern poetry has so much 
dash in it, you know. Nothing is said. Every- 
thing is left to the imagination. By the way, Mr. 
Stone, would you mind seeing me home? I am 
sorry to trouble you, but — but I'm in such a hurry. 

Ted. It's not much trouble — it's no pleasure — I 
mean, it's a great trouble — delighted. 

Letitia. Thank you, funny boy. Good-night, 
Floy dear. It has been the loveliest party. Good- 
night, Mrs. Hooker, everything has been so — so 
beautifully unconventional. And where is Mr. 
Hooker ? 

Steve. Having a smoke, I guess. 

Letitia. Say good-night for me. Or is it good- 
morning ? It is nearly morning, isn't it ? Oh, Floy, 
dear, I almost forgot — The very best of wishes. 
Will it be soon ? I suppose so. You'll let me catch 
your bouquet, won't you? 

Floy. Let you carry it if you want to, in my 
place. 

Letitia. Floy, you are such a jester. I never 
can tell when you are in earnest. Won't it be some- 
thing of a strain on you, Professor Bartholomew, 
keeping up with her repartee at the breakfast table ? 
Good-night everybody. {Everybody returns the 
salutation. Exit Letitia into hall, abruptly. Re- 
enter Letitia) Come, my hero. {Exit Letitia. 
Ted marches after her) 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 55 

Floy. Good-night, Mr. Stone. 

Ted. Nightie, nightie. (Exit Ted into hall. 
Enter Mr. Hooker from the billiard room. Steve 
sings, "Good-night, Ladies/') 

Mr. Hooker. Steve, stop that infernal noise. 

Steve. Gentle hint, Dad. When young love is 
enthroned, time for family to clear out. 

Alosius. Floy, may I have a word with you in 
the study? 

Floy. Yes, I want just about one word with you, 
Alosius. 

( They go into the study, Alosius closing the door/) 

Mrs. Hooker. What does it mean? Did either 
of you tell him? 

Steve. Not I. 

Mr. Hooker. And I've been asleep — or trying to 
sleep. 

Mrs. Hooker. Is it possible that he just hap- 
pened to propose at this time of all times? 

Mr. Hooker. What beats me is, why did she 
accept him ? 

Mrs. Hooker. I haven't breathed a word of our 
affairs to Floy, and yet she acts just like a martyr. 

Mr. Hooker. I believe the little girl is sacrificing 
herself for our sakes. 

Mrs. Hooker. But how would she get wind of 
our predicament? 

(Steve begins to sing again/) 

Mr. Hooker. Steve, if you don't stop that, I'll 
have you muzzled. 

Steve. Why don't you break the engagement, 
Dad? 

Mr. Hooker. What next? 



56 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Steve. Easy enough. Just open that door, and 
say solemnly, " It's all off." Then beat a retreat. 

Mr. Hooker. No, no, boy, you don't know what 
you are talking about. 

Steve. Dad, why not? It surely is not the mil- 
lion dollars you're considering? The more I think 
of it, I'd rather be poor but honest than to have 
Alosius for a brother-in-law. 

Mr. Hooker. And I'd rather have a* dozen fail- 
ures than to have that failure for a son-in-law. 

Mrs. Hooker. I am almost inclined to agree with 
you, Dad, but I don't know why. Alosius isn't a 
failure. He's unusually successful 

Mr. Hooker. He is too confoundedly success- 
ful. 

Mrs. Hooker. Well, dear, we must get some rest. 
If only it had been Jack. 

Steve. Jack is a prince. He's as fine as Ted 
Stone, and a little older, too. 

Mr. Hooker. Well, I suppose young people must 
manage .their own affairs. They do, any way. 
Come, Sally. 

Mrs. Hooker. Bedtime, Steve. 

Steve. No, Mater, I'm going to stay on the job. 
(Capering about) I am that merry wanderer of 
the night, who will sprinkle the magic juice of love- 
in-idleness in their eyes. (In Puck fashion he frisks 
about, while the parents sadly climb the stairs, arm 
in arm. They disappear up the stairs and Steve 
pirouettes into the billiard room. After a moment's 
pause, angry voices are heard in the study. The 
door bursts open and Floy rushes out, followed by 
Alosius) 

Floy. Let me go, Alosius. Let me go, I say. I 
never was so insulted in my life. 

Alosius. How is it possible for me to insult you 
when we are engaged ? 

Floy. If that is the way you feel about it, then 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 57 

let it be understood we are not engaged. I never 
consented to your proposition any way. 

Alosius. Semper mutabile femina est. It was 
you who made the proposition. I accepted. 

Floy. You announced our engagement when 
there wasn't any. I made a strictly business proposi- 
tion 

Alosius. I accepted. Therefore we are engaged. 
Therefore I will have that kiss. Your coquetry is 
piquantly charming, Floy, but there is a a limit. 

Floy. There is a limit. If you come any nearer 
to me, I'll tear your eyes out. Oh r we are all beasts, 
beasts. Just a thin veneer of refinement. Comes a 
big war or a big passion, and ouf ! the civilization is 
stripped off like lightning. Now I have found out 
about myself. I'm a sleek sinewy tiger — that's what 
I am. Don't you come a step nearer. If you do, 
I'll claw you to pieces. > i >i 

Alosius. I am beginning to foresee a pleasant ' : 
domestic existence. But I like you all the better 
when you are in a rage. 

Floy. Alosius, see, I am sitting calmly in this 
chair. I am not in a rage. I repeat to you in the 
most matter-of-fact tone : our engagement — if we 
ever had an engagement — is broken, broken, broken. 

Alosius. I suppose I am now to learn once more 
of the feminine psychology which says No when it 
means Yes. It is a primitive method that a woman 
has of binding a man closely to her. 

Floy. Alosius, I never had any cannibalistic 
yearnings before, but I verily believe I could chop 
you up into little bits and eat you. 

Aloslus. You really must dote on me, my. dear. 
Well, here is my ultimatum : I am not going, sweet- 
heart, until you give me that kiss. At least one. 
You are a naughty girl and I 

Floy. Can I speak more plainly? I thought 
of marrying you as a coldly business arrangement, 



58 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

simply to save my family from ruin. Forgive me 
that mercenary moment. At any rate, I have been 
frank. And I am honest with you now when I tell 
you that I joyfully choose ruin for my loved ones 
and myself sooner than endure your society for 
another moment. Alosius, you force me to be rude. 
Have I hurt you? 

Alosius. You are a delight. In my three other 
affairs, I had no experience like this. You are 
champagne to my jaded nerves, exhilarating, ravish- 
ing. This role you have assumed is too preposter- 
ous, but it suits you well. Let me see, (Glancing 
at his watch) it is not yet midnight. I can wait for 
the mood to pass, and I will have that kiss, little 
charmer. A man can't make too sure of a volatile 
spirit like yours. Why — I — (She stares at him in 
silent indignation, and he breaks off his voluble dis- 
course, as Steve enters from the billiard room, 
carrying a cue which he is chalking) 

Steve. Have a game? 

Alosius. No thanks. I never play games — waste 
of time. 

Floy. Alosius and I are playing a little game 
right, now. Don't go, Steve. You can help me. 
I — well, I suppose you would call it— I proposed to 
this man. 

Alosius. Yes, that is precisely what you would 
call it. 

Floy. On account of the will and the assign- 
ment. I explained it all to him as business, nothing 
but business, and now 

Alosius. Now I have decided that much as I 
should like to help you and your family,— it was an 
instinct of chivalry that prompted me to accept, I 
daresay, but hard as it now seems to leave you 
stranded, I must think of myself, my career: my 
time must all be conserved, not dissipated. And so 
I am afraid I must break the engagement. 






HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 59 

Steve. Shall I kick him out, Sis? 

Floy. No, Steve, let him keep his fondest posses- 
sion, his dignity. 

Alosius. As I was about to say, my home must 
be my workshop. You know what a time Carlyle 
had with a wealthy wife, notwithstanding his sound- 
proof study. I 

Steve. You will find your hat and coat near the 
door. 

Alosius. Thank you. I trust there is no ill feel- 
ing. I wish you both good-night. (Exit Alosius.^^ 
The door is heard to slam) 

Floy. (Bursting into peals of laughter, then 
imitating the heavy manner of Alosius) "I trust 
there is no ill feeling. I wish you both good-night. 
I — " Oh, Steve, switch off the lights, I can't bear 
to have you witness my humiliation. 

(Steve switches off the lights, so that, except for 
the moonlight through the' window and the fire- 
light, the room is in darkness. Floy puts a 
log on the fire and squats down in front of it. 
Steve lights his pipe and hugs his knees on 
the window seat.) 

Steve. Lucky escape, Sis. 

Floy. Lucky escape from a million dollars. 
Steve, I am actually glad we are going to be poor. 

Steve. So am I. Be a new sensation. 

Floy. Yes, and it is going to simplify life such a 
lot. No more responsibilities and complexities and 
subleties. We can do whatever we want to and not 
what other people want us to do. 

Steve. We'll find out who our friends are. 

Floy. It will be such fun to get a pay envelope 
instead of an allowance. I hate to lose our home, 
though. Suppose we'll have to room in a garret? 
Garret rooms can be awfully artistic. 



60 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Steve. (Looking through the zvindow) Queer 
thing happening across the street, Floy. Suspicious 
looking man walking back and forth watching our 
house. Wonder if it is a burglar. 

Floy. (Joining Steve at the window) I hope 
it is a burglar who comes and burgles a lot. Then 
we can get the insurance. 

Steve. Mercenary. I am going to get a revolver. 

Floy. Oh, Steve, I saw his face under a lamp 
post. It — it is not a burglar. 

Steve. How do you know? 

Floy. Because it isn't a burglar's face. 

Steve. I can see him now, too. Why if it isn't — 
it is. It's Jack. I'll go and lasso the old scout. 

Floy. You'll do nothing of the sort, Steve. 

Steve. Why not? 

Floy. At this hour? 

Steve. That's just the point. There are only 
a few minutes before midnight, and you had better 
hustle and land him. 

Floy. Oh, Steve, is that what you think of your 
sister ? 

Steve. Highest compliment I can pay you, be- 
cause he is the finest fellow 1 know of, not excepting 
Ted Stone. And you do care for Jack. You did 
last year. You do still. Now, don't you? 

Floy. Steve ! 

Steve. He cares for you too. He wouldn't be 
mooning around like this if he didn't. Here, let 
me call him before he gets away. 

Floy. (Detaining him) Please don't. 

Steve. Why not? 

Floy. Wait. 

Steve. Now, Sis, the one thing we can't afford to 
do is to wait. It's the old game of consequences: 
Her name, Sis ; his name, Jack ; they met in her 
house just before midnight; he said, "Will you be 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 61 

mine ? " she said, " Oh, yes ! " and the consequences 
were they got a million dollars. 

Floy. And the world said, " What a scandal ! " 
No, Steve boy, you don't understand. I couldn't 
make this a business proposition with Jack. I canit, 
I won't be engaged for money. I wouldn't be 
engaged before midnight, Steve. Nothing could 
induce me to. So you'll have to give up this little 
scheme. 

Steve. But there is nothing to prevent your being 
engaged after midnight. (While she is not looking, 
Steve pushes the hands of the, clock on the mantel 
ahead fifteen minutes, making it midnight, — this act 
only half visible in the firelight. Then he prances 
about mischievously ) 

Floy. What are you doing, Steve? 

Steve. Going to get Jack. 

Floy. No, no, no, no. 

Steve. That sounds to me, Floy, like yes,, yes, 
yes, yes. (Exit Steve through hall. The little 
clock on the mantel strikes twelve rapidly) 

Floy. (Sitting in front of the fire) Twelve 
o'clock! And now I'm poor. I don't care. 

(Re-enter Steve, followed by Jack.) 

Jack. (Removing his ulster in the hall) I just 
happened to be walking by. Lucky you saw me. 
You say you have something important to tell me? 

(Steve draws the portieres as he disappears into 
the billiard room.) 

Floy. Oh, is that you, Jack. How did you get 
in? 

Jack. (Entering) Steve — Where is he? He 
wanted to tell me something. 



62 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 

Floy. Probably that my engagement to Alosius 
is broken. Alosius broke it. 

Jack. Is this some more of your coquetry, Floy? 

Floy. Don't you dare use that word, coquetry. 
• Jack. Then — then you will marry me? See, it 
is after midnight, honey. Say yes. 

Floy. So you know all about it, too ? 

Jack. Your mother told me. 

Floy. Oh, I hate this love and money mixture. 

Jack. There's nothing left but love now, honey, 
and on that I'll kiss you. {He sits on the arm of her 
chair, but she escapes his embrace) 

Floy. No, we'll not begin this with kissing. 

Jack. I reckon it will be the penalty imposed by 
the judge. 

Floy. This is a serious matter. 

Jack. Kissing is a very serious matter. 

Floy. Marrying isn't a matter of kissing. It is 
a matter of temperament. I have a brain. Please 
give me credit for that. 

Jack. Item: credit for one dear little brain. 

Floy. You are almost as odius as Alosius. 

Jack. Puzzle : why did that little brain break our 
engagement? I can't remember. 

Floy. Jack, it isn't possible you have forgotten 
the cause of our rupture ? 

Jack. I remember you were terribly offended 
about something. 

Floy. And so were you. 

Jack. But I don't know what it was all about. 

Floy. It was a totally different interpretation of 
life. It was what they call in the divorce court 
" incompatibility of temperament." But since then 
I have changed. 

Jack. So have I. 

Floy. I have changed to-night. 

Jack. And I've changed my mind since seeing 
you here to-night. This is your environment. You 



HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 63 

should enjoy life to the full, honey, it is your right. 
On my hermitage on the plains I have not known 
anything about the social side of life. And I pre- 
tend to interpret men and women in my books 
when I don't know anything about them. I want 
to lead this life of yours. I want to taste it to the 
full. I want to go the pace with you, honey. -We41 

sip the nectar of existence, we'll 

Floy. Jack, you are delirious. You have lost 
your poise, lost all the good sense I have admired 
in you, and (A sob) just when I have had some 
sense knocked into me. I have gone this crazy pace 
and I know what I am talking about. I am glad 

to renounce it. _ I want poverty, work, fresh air 

. Jack. You little Epicurean, now you are romanc- 
ing. 

Floy. And you are philosophizing. With all of 
your southern chivalry, you are a Puritan at heart 
Jack. , ' 

Jack. Puritan? Fiddlesticks! I want the life. 
I want to do something shocking. 

Floy. Jack, Jack, don't you realize, everybody 
wants to do something shocking nowadays and that 
is why there is nobody left to be shocked ? 

Jack. But I have just come to realize, honev 
what you know: this is the biggest age of history 
and America the greatest country on the globe- 
why ? Because we utilize every moment of our time. 
I ve been thinking it out as I paced back and forth 
in front of your house. There is no leisure class 
here because there is no leisure, There-never was a 
time or a country where so much is packed into a 
■moment—business, art, pleasure. That is what ^ives 
-zest and tang to living. That is what spells prog- 

Ploy. There never was a time or a countrv— 
you quoted statistics yourself to prove it— with such 
a horrible record of crime and insanity. There is a 



6 4 HURRY,, HURRY, HURRY 

difference between r plishment and activity, 

Tack, between nerve *na nervousness Oh, Jack 
I do care for vou. Let's go back to the plains ot 
Texas and ride our ponies and be carefree. I hat 
is the way to live. , 

Tack Dearest, you wouldn't be carefree. You d 
be a drudge. We would grow stale. The 

monotony . 

Floy. But in the city you are a machine,— no, a 
cog in the machine, grinding day and night. 

Jack. A compromise, honey: half tiie year on 
my ranch, half the year in your city. 

Floy How silly we are to be talking about the 
place to live. Now we'll have to earn a living 
wherever we can, and I don't care where, so long as 
I have you. (They start to embrace, but they pause, 
as the chimes of " the city clock are heard tolling 
twelve) Why, Tack, it is just striking twelve now 
(Shaking her finger at the clock on the mantel) I 
never knew our old clock to be ahead of time beiore, 

but maybe 

Jack. Maybe— Now, honey, you 11 never have to 
worry and you'll never have to hurry. 
Floy. Hurry? 

Steve. (Sticking his head through the billiard 
room portieres and making an impish grimace in the 
firelight) Hurry! (Steve, laughing, disappear s 
behind the portieres. Floy and Jack laugh and 
embrace ) 









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